Selective/Memory: The Depth of Emotion Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion)
Page 7
Concluding their session, they set the next appointment. The last few minutes of the visit were a blur. Aria thought about Declan.
What would she say if he were sitting in front of her and she had the power to say anything she wanted to him? What if he were forced to listen, in whatever mood she was in, and he could say nothing back to her? If he was made to understand exactly what happened that day?
That was essentially what this scenario proposed—and it was appealing. She only needed to think of one thing…
…Where should she begin?…
State government buildings held about as much warmth as an ice cube, but he felt the familiarity of friendship and camaraderie as he walked through the door. His fellow Troopers had always given him a sense of family.
“Hey, Sinclair! What are you doing up here?!” Sergeant Henry yelled across the floor. The old man was a welcome sight.
“I thought I’d come back and screw up your day!” Carter shouted back jokingly, making his way over to shake hands with his old friend and superior officer.
“Where’s everybody?” he asked, pulling up an old chair.
“Shift’s almost over. They’ll be filing in soon.” He held up a stained cup to Carter. “Coffee?”
“Nah. Thanks,” Carter said as he followed him.
After pouring himself a cup, Sergeant Henry returned to his desk.
“Really, what brings you up here? I thought you were staying with your brother down at his house near the ocean. Aren’t you still there?” he asked.
Moving to get comfortable in the chair, Carter sat to pass the time.
“I was. I am. He can be a pain in the ass at times. I needed to get away for a few days—give us both a little breathing room. You know what I mean?” he asked. “I figured it was a good time to come up here and check on the house, see if any mail hadn’t been forwarded down to me—you know, the regular bullshit.”
“Yeah, I get you.” The sergeant nodded. He then broached the next subject carefully. “You been by your house yet?”
He watched Carter stiffen.
“No. It’s my next stop.” Carter fidgeted in the chair and began to bounce his foot on the floor.
Reading his body language, the old man deflected.
“Okay; bad subject. How’s your brother? I heard it was a pretty bad accident. Got somebody saved, but hurt himself in the process?”
“It was pretty bad, and the girl is safe—well, physically at least. As far as he goes, I don’t think he’ll ever be the same. For that matter, I don’t think his girlfriend—former girlfriend—will either.”
“Damn!” the old man stated. “Sounds like a real mess. I’ll bet it’s been real tough—for both of you.”
Carter nodded. “It was…It is…It’s hard to watch him slowly self-destruct. Lately, it seems he’s been crawling into a bottle. He doesn’t think I notice.”
“You talk any sense into him?” the sergeant asked. He and Carter knew firsthand the devastation that could cause.
Carter leaned back into the chair and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He could deal with any other person when he was on duty, but couldn’t talk sense into his brother. The frustration killed him.
“I’m trying. I’ve talked to him, I’ve fought with him”—he gave the sergeant a laugh—“Next, I’m going to kick his ass.”
The statement caused the old man to crack a smile. “Have you thought about bringing him up here for a while? The mountains do good to clear your head. You of all people know that.”
Carter’s expression changed to one of sadness. “No.”
He offered no other comment, and the trained officer detected his sorrow through the cracks of his expression. It pained him to see Carter’s grief.
“You know, Sinclair, it’s normal to not want to go there—back to the house, I mean.”
“I never said that.” Quick to defend himself, Carter had put up a wall.
“You didn’t have to. Your body’s saying it for you,” the officer replied.
Carter knew that Sergeant Henry was a good read of people. It was part of the job, and he did it well.
“You know, I lived there without her before Declan got hurt,” he stated, matter of fact.
Sergeant Henry wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, but you didn’t like it.”
Carter raised his head to look at the sly old fox. He never could hide anything from him. He was just as much a pain in the ass as his brother, but he knew the truth of his relationship with Lacey.
“Yeah…I didn’t.”
Acknowledging he was right, Carter nodded his head. “If I have to tell the truth, I don’t know if I can live here without her.”
He took in a deep breath. Memories of Lacey were both good and bad. He knew it would never go away, but he could at least make this conversation better.
“Speaking of Lacey…”
He’d gotten the old man’s attention.
Leaning back to take a drink, Sergeant Henry focused on what Carter was about to say because he detected a more positive difference in his voice.
“I’ve been in the works of putting together a gala.”
The sergeant spit into his cup as he half choked and laughed.
“A gala? You?” he asked.
Carter gave him a look as if he had just eaten something vile.
“Yeah, Sarg. A gala. Me. Shut the hell up and listen.”
Still chuckling under his breath, the sergeant mocked him, making the “taking a key and locking up his mouth” motion.
“I’ve been working with some of my brother’s friends who put together the opening of his business down at the beach. I wanted to put something together—a benefit, or dance-like thing—to start a scholarship in Lacey’s name.”
The last thing Carter said got the sergeant’s attention and he stopped heckling him, becoming more interested and curious with the plan.
“What made you come up with this idea?” he asked.
Carter leaned forward, scratching his head. He couldn’t remember when the thought occurred to him just that it had.
“I don’t know. I guess just thinking about Lacey one night and how she always enjoyed helping others. It was always like her to do things for people—something positive to help them. She loved kids, loved teaching, and loved being outdoors as well as being physical. I guess I thought if I could put something together that would make kids want to be both active and take school seriously, that she’d somehow like it.” He seemed to want approval.
Sergeant Henry came around his desk and sat on the edge. The older man looked at Carter and nodded his head in agreement with him. Memories of Lacey and her constant encouragement with the kids in the area still served him well.
“I think you’re right,” he said, placing a supportive hand on Carter’s shoulder. “She’d like you doing that.”
Both men sat on their memories of Lacey for a few moments while a comforting silence prevailed over their respective thoughts of her.
“So…” the sergeant began, slapping Carter on the back. “How can I help get this thing, this gala moving?”
In pain, he limped back to his desk. Some days it was better, but today it was worse. The dampness in the weather was causing him this current discomfort, which only added to his agitation.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, annoyed with her unannounced arrival.
Narrowing her eyes, she shot him a look of contempt.
“Not a very good way to greet me, Declan. I would think you would be happier to see me, seeing how your friend list is growing shorter by the minute.”
Falling into his chair, he disregarded Marisol, which angered her.
“What do you want?” he asked, still annoyed.
“I came to see you,” she said, coming around his desk. “I thought you might like to go to lunch or something.”
Declan continued to peruse the paperwork on his desk.
“Not interested. Next?” he said in dismissal.
“You do not have to behave so rudely,” she calmly said. “Remember, I am a friend. One of the only friends you have left.”
Her comment earned her a hard look with eyes that were both dead and cold today.
“My social status is none of your concern. Get that through your head. For some reason, you seem to make us into something that I’m remembering we weren’t. Now, if you’re done, see yourself to the door.”
Composing herself and recalling her agenda, Marisol dismissed his attitude. Ultimately, she was convinced she’d be the better game player so he’d eventually be put in his place.
“Sorry. I should not have said that.” She put on a repentant face for his benefit. “Seriously, I only came to see if you would like to eat. It was that simple a request. We can talk business if you like. Blake has a few more people he would like you to meet, and we can arrange for them to come to you.”
Declan rolled his shoulders to ease the tension that was settling there. At times, Marisol abraded what few nerves he had left. He didn’t have the energy today.
“I guess I have to eat,” he resigned.
What was really crossing his mind was the legitimacy of having a few drinks while talking business. That was always an acceptable excuse—as if today he gave a damn.
Marisol pressed her hands together as she stood. She was delighted that her skills of persuasion were working. Making her way to his desk, she placed a hand over his.
“I am so happy with your decision,” she said.
He almost violently pulled his hand out from under her touch, causing her to flinch.
“Business, Marisol. Get it through your head. After the other day, nothing more.”
She maintained a static composure. It mattered not that he said it was business. They’d be out in public. She’d be certain that they’d be seen for the publicity. She always had photographers on payroll getting the shots that she dictated. Carefully creating an illusion that she and Declan were together was being done for more than the sake of appearance, but after all, in Marisol’s mind, appearance was everything…
With his visit at the Barracks over, Carter stood, readying himself to leave. It had been a good visit with his fellow Troopers. The sergeant filled everyone in on what he was planning down at the beach for the scholarship fund, and everyone offered their support. If all of them attended, they’d have a great crowd. Most of the guys said it would be a great excuse to get away to the ocean, but he knew that they were all in support of what he was trying to do in his deceased wife’s memory. Lacey had been a tiny woman, but she made a huge impact on everyone who knew her. He was confident that their entire community felt her loss.
As he was saying goodbye to some of the guys, Sergeant Henry remembered a topic that he wanted to bring to Carter’s attention and discuss with him.
“Sinclair!” he hollered.
Carter’s head snapped to attention at the call, and he made eye contact with the man.
“I need to talk to you before you leave,” the sergeant said, motioning him over to his office.
Muttering goodbyes to his friends, Carter walked back in that direction.
“You forget something, Sarg?”
“Yeah,” he answered, opening his desk drawer. “Have you spoken with Captain Jax since you left here?” he asked.
With his eyebrow inquisitively raised, Carter shook his head.
“I didn’t think so,” Sergeant Henry said. “I figured you would have said something if you did.”
Puzzled, Carter watched as the sergeant reached into a manila envelope.
The sergeant spoke as he handed a piece of paper to Carter.
“Seems they think they may have a photo of the person who was driving the car that, possibly, hit Lacey.”
Shock registered on Carter’s face, and he looked at the paper. It was some sort of picture—a grainy photo of a woman. He studied it, turning it around to get more clarity, and in a moment of recognition, he fell into the chair from weakened knees.
“Jax wanted you to see it, Sinclair,” Sergeant Henry said in an apologetic tone. “I know it isn’t a clear picture. It might be nothing. We don’t have much information. Just a picture and someone coming back with a dented rental car on the same day that Lacey died.”
All strength left him, as if he had been punched in the stomach. Slightly in shock, Carter raised pained eyes to address the bearer of his distressed news.
“It might not be clear, Sarg,” he said, his face gone white, “but I think I recognize this person…”
♪ Nobody (Live Acoustic) – Kate Earl
“GO!”
Sitting straight up in bed, the word had caused his heart to race and pulses to pound once again. His breathing had labored, and he saw nothing as he stared ahead of him. The scene in his mind’s eye was a complete blur. He could never make sense of this dream; that was what made it more of a nightmare as it relentlessly terrorized him. In his first, brief moments of consciousness, his safety couldn’t be assured—at least, not in his mind. He neither knew where he was nor who he was within that compact time of terror. His security was always in question as his mind, teetered on the edge of reality.
“It’s a dream. It’s just a dream,” he muttered under his breath as he rubbed his forehead. His own words were reverberating in his ears to calm him as they tried to convince his body and mind that the unknown terror couldn’t cause him harm.
Slowly moving his legs off the side of the bed, he slipped them onto the chilly floor. He rolled his head from side to side, easing the tension that had formed in his neck. He could deal with everything else—the physical pain, learning to walk more carefully and efficiently, and even the absence of Aria—but whatever this shit in his subconscious was that was constantly robbing his sleep, well, it was grating on his nerves, not to mention pissing him off.
As he walked to the bathroom, he noticed how quiet the house had become. Carter had left earlier to go up to the mountains and check on things at his and Lacey’s house. He even took Cody with him, making the house more desolate and mute.
“It’s too damn quiet…” he heard himself say.
It was then that he realized this was the first time he had been alone since Aria had come to live with him there…and the familiar, agonizing feelings of loneliness crept back in.
Making his way to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, shaking his head, as if in doing so he could shake her out of his mind. There was no way out of it, and he knew it was hopeless. Once she got in there—into his thoughts—she rarely left until there was enough alcohol within him to drown her out, and even then there was no guarantee she’d go.
He hung his head over the sink, splashing cold water over his face and running it through his thick hair with his hands—and then she came. He saw her…smiling…walking on the beach…in his arms…in his bed…
He slammed his head against the cabinet as if he could drive the beautiful images out with physical force, but she wouldn’t go.
“No, no, no!” he said with each smack of his head against the wood.
Holding on to the sink, he lowered himself to sit, feeling as emotionally weak as he was physically.
“What the hell’s wrong with me?” he asked, speaking to no one but himself.
The solitary confinement of his home threatened to smother him. Every corner contained a memory of someone that he loved or cared about. They were building a life—and the accident took it away.
Resting his head in his hands, the weight and totality of it all finally crushed him in the absence of any moral support, and he was able to let the pain flow freely in the form of tears.
As the wetness rolled down his cheek to his chin and hit the floor, he spoke to her in the emptiness of the room.
“It’s you. Only you. You’re what’s wrong with me, Aria…I can’t—I don’t—want to let y
ou go…”
…and the sobs washed over him and away at the resentment and pain…
Write a letter. It’s so simple. It isn’t as if Declan would ever see it. Dr. Sumner suggested that it would give me a place for all of my unresolved feelings to go. True, all these thoughts keep rolling around in my head and I have nowhere for them to go. Why not?
She knew she needed to express these emotions constructively, and she didn’t want to confide them to anyone. They had been building for months. At times, she found herself crying for no reason when a song came on the radio, then she remembered that she’d heard it when she was with Declan, somewhere—anywhere. It would spark something and Aria had nowhere for the emotion to go. Maybe Dr. Sumner was onto something with this purging through the letters. Maybe—just maybe—she was right.
Aria made herself a good cup of coffee, found some nice stationary, her favorite pen, and sat in a comfy chair. This was going to be good. She took a deep breath…in…and out…
How to start…
My Dearest Declan…
No. Too intimate…and corny.
Declan…
No. Too harsh and cold.
Dear Declan,
Days are long without you…
Truth. Yeah, I’m going to tell him the truth…♪
Dear Declan,
Days are longer without you, and they aren’t quite as bright. Thoughts of you still occupy my mind, though mostly when it’s quiet and I’m idle. I miss you. I miss the touch of your hands…
The truth, Aria; the truth. He’ll never see it, but you can put it out there in the universe—and out from your heart…three deep breaths…
…Nobody loved me like you. Nobody thrilled me like you. Nobody gets me…nobody killed me like you…
I hadn’t put much thought into something as simple as a touch, until I felt yours. It ignited me to an entire world of sensation; comfort, joy, passion, and lust. The excitement you unveiled in me grew me into a woman that I learned to enjoy being every day, and sharing those days with you became my bliss. I died inside when you pushed me away. I think you did too, but because we no longer communicate, we’ll never know. There’s a part of me that understands. I understood how my dad pushed away people he loved when he was hurting; he thought it was best, that he was protecting us, but he didn’t have the right to make that decision. Neither did you.